


Fushimi Saruhiko’s Twister Trouble

by KittyGetsLoose



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Humour, M/M, The M rating is mainly for suggestiveness and strong language as well as sexual references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 09:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7838644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyGetsLoose/pseuds/KittyGetsLoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title just about sums it up. No reason for writing this other than that I was in dire need of a bit of humour. I hope that at least some readers find it amusing too!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fushimi Saruhiko’s Twister Trouble

Only 40 minutes in, there were already several casualties – in more than one sense. 

Doumyouji had kicked Gotou in the crotch – twice – before proceeding to sit on Fuse’s head. Hidaka looked like he was about to spontaneously combust because he’d been unable for the longest time to move his arm from where it was wedged between Lieutenant Awashima’s ample breasts. Then Doumyouji, the walking disaster, had unfortunately had his name drawn _again_ – to play against Kamo this time. And within five moves, he’d planted his butt right into Kamo’s face for an entire minute while Yayoi, designated spinner for that round, fell about laughing so hard that she’d been unable to get up to try to spin poor Kamo out of his predicament.

Benzai, cool and calm as ever, had held up well against Lieutenant Awashima’s intimidating assets even when she was practically draped over his neck at one stage – but even he had “fallen in battle” against his roommate Akiyama when the latter had sent him rolling onto his side in their lunge for the same red circle.

Zenjou-san, who had good-humouredly volunteered to be the referee once he’d stumbled upon them going at it full throttle in the staff lounge (“I’m automatically disqualified from such a pastime as I have only one arm, so let me be the judge”) had determined that Akiyama’s lunge was not overly violent and that he had not actually shoved Benzai, so the former was the winner for that round. 

The one drawn to play against the most recent winner was Yayoi, and astonishingly, the petite General Affairs clerk proved to be Akiyama’s downfall. Because that sensible special ops swordsman who had once filled the role of Sceptre 4 Acting Captain with distinction apparently had a weakness against shy, bespectacled girls who blushed when he was forced nose-to-nose with them. He’d caved quickly and lost his balance, going down on one elbow, when Yayoi had been the first to shoot her hand out towards the green circle he too was aiming for.

“Akiyama-kun never looks at all flustered when he’s forced close to _me_ in unarmed combat training,” Lieutenant Awashima huffed in mock-accusation, feigning offence. “Obviously, he does not regard sabre-wielding, hot-tempered women in leadership positions as females who are worth falling for, unlike gentle, demure girls.”

As Akiyama protested good-naturedly against such a description of his character, saying it made him sound sexist, Enomoto was drawn to take Yayoi on. Of course, he very nearly lost from the start because he’d always found Yayoi cute, and seeing her on all fours with her perky little bottom in the air was almost too much for him.

Except that Yayoi plunged dramatically out of the round when she squeaked in fright and rolled clean off the mat at the sight of a person no one had expected to be there suddenly striding into the lounge.

Captain Munakata.

Who was supposed to be away at a long meeting with the Met Department police chief. 

Who was the _worst_ person to play _any_ sort of game with. Ever. Not merely because he won _every_ game _every single time_ (and derived as much delight from triumphing in the 50th round as he did the first), but also because the vast majority of recreational table and parlour games were completely new to him, and he had been known to assume on previous occasions that his prize for winning each round was the assignment of extra work duties to the ones who had lost.

“Hoh!” the captain exclaimed at the picture that greeted him of Enomoto and Yayoi scrambling up from their contortions on a plastic mat covered in multicoloured spots. “What is this intriguing new activity?”

Being the person who unfortunately happened to be standing closest to him, Akiyama gulped. “It’s called Twister, sir,” he dutifully replied in as steady a voice as he could muster. “It is in fact quite an old game.”

“Twister?” Munakata asked curiously. “I have never heard of it. How is it that I have never seen any of you play it before this?” 

“Well, Gotou found the mat and spinner by chance while tidying up his stash of… collectibles, and only remembered then that he even had such a game,” Akiyama said.

“Indeed?” Munakata remarked, his eyes sparkling. “How is it played?”

People were already starting to back away from the mat, as surreptitiously as an entire special ops squad of strapping swordsmen possibly could.

“Ah…” Akiyama, looking around and finding no help forthcoming, was trapped in his unforeseen role of Twister rule explainer and thus obliged to continue. “Someone spins the needle on that board to determine what colour of circle on the mat the players’ hands and feet should move to. While moving the hand or foot determined by the spinner, the other hands and feet must not be moved. Erm… if the hand or foot called is already on a circle of the colour called, the player must move that hand or foot to a different circle of the same colour… and… oh, no circle can have more than one limb on it. The first player whose elbow or knee touches the mat, or who falls, loses. That’s more or less what the rules are.”

“Oh? I have never played such a game,” Munakata declared, with a gleam in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

People backed even further away from the mat, although Lieutenant Awashima glared furiously at them, Akiyama glanced helplessly at his retreating comrades, and Zenjou remained stoically in place. As for Enomoto, he looked increasingly like a rabbit in the headlights of an onrushing car. Because as the winner of the last round, he was the one who would have to take on the next comer.

Which common courtesy dictated they would have to invite the eager Munakata to be.

Which they did, with a sense of doom.

Resigning them all to fate, Akiyama politely prepared their king for his first game of Twister. 

“Captain, please remove your footwear,” the swordsman requested. “You should also remove your sabre and outer coat, as they will get in your way during the game.”

Munakata readily slipped out of the indoor shoes that all the staff changed into once they crossed over from the office and administrative wings to the dorm, mess, bathing and lounge areas. He unstrapped his sabre belt and rested the sword carefully on a table, then removed his coat and draped it neatly over the back of a chair.

“Now, please stand with your left foot in the blue circle closest to your end of the mat, sir, and your right in the yellow circle beside it. As you see, Enomoto will face you from the other end, starting off with his left foot on yellow and his right on blue. And… it seems we’re ready to begin.”

Munakata beamed with pleasure, Enomoto quailed, Kamo offered to spin, and Zenjou stayed where he was as the referee. 

The first few spins somehow kept landing on the quadrants for the feet. “Right foot, green”, Kamo called out, followed by “right foot, red”, then “left foot, blue”, and “right foot, green” again, and “right foot, yellow”, so their hands had not been called into play yet.

Thus far, in all the rounds before the captain’s arrival, everyone had adopted the strategy of going at it furious and fast, aiming aggressively at their opponent’s side of the mat to crowd the other out and corner them in the hope of making them lose their balance. But Enomoto was so dismayed at facing the captain that he kept shuffling in a line along his edge of the mat even as the captain advanced dangerously towards him.

At last, the spinner fell on “Right hand, yellow”, but this proved terrifying for Enomoto, whose back was now to the captain, and who found the captain’s right foot already occupying the yellow circle just a row away from the one his own right foot was currently on. He had to reach backwards to try to put his hand on the only empty yellow circle between them. But Munakata, reaching forward much more swiftly towards the same yellow circle, got there first, looming directly over his backward-stretching opponent.

“Captain touched the circle first,” Zenjou confirmed in an impartial voice. “Enomoto will have to choose another yellow.”

Poor Enomoto, twisting his body sideways, had to reach for the spot beyond Munakata’s right foot, and found himself most awkwardly stretched out beneath the captain’s elegant torso, those perfectly shaped muscles barely concealed by the crisp white shirt. The clansman could still make it, though, and he was just hanging in there by the skin of his teeth when Munakata tipped his head down to gaze at him with a brilliant smile and to ask: “Are you all right down there, Enomoto-kun?”

The onlookers would later swear that it was an example of the perfect bedroom voice.

As a result, in an echo of Yayoi’s startled tumble out of the game earlier, Enomoto squeaked in a blend of embarrassment and alarm and fell onto his back, then scrambled right off the mat, losing the round.

“It appears that I have beaten you, Enomoto-kun,” the captain said with the biggest smile as he got to his feet. “Who will be my next opponent?”

Oh dear god.

“We-we’ve been drawing the names out of this box,” Akiyama said, showing Munakata the cardboard box into which they had put strips of paper with the players’ names scribbled on them, to the horror of everyone whose name was in there. 

Akiyama, coming close to sweatdropping, was just holding out the box to the captain when someone else unexpectedly approached the lounge, muttering irritably: “ _Where’s_ that jar of gourmet instant coffee I just left in the men’s dorm yesterday? Did someone remove it and put it here…?”

It was Fushimi.

Sceptre 4’s third in command froze in his steps the moment he came level with the open doorway and knew immediately with his sharp-as-knives instincts that he had stumbled upon a scene he should _never_ have stumbled upon. He instantly veered away from the doorway, mumbling: “Nevermindi’lldrinksomethingelsefornow…”

But his appearance had already been greeted by the team in the same way that the breaking dawn would be greeted by warriors who’d been losing their battle against demons of the night. Like the cavalry would be greeted by helpless townspeople besieged by hostile raiders.

“Fushimi-san!” Doumyouji and Hidaka cried out in relief, darting through the doorway to stop him from leaving. “Fushimi-san, please – _please_ –”

“The answer is no,” Fushimi declined bluntly even before they’d asked the question, trying to step around them.

But out of sheer desperation, the pair – who ordinarily would never have dared to lay hands on their superior without permission (and permission was never given) – clung to Fushimi’s arms and begged: “Please, Fushimi-san! You _have_ to take the captain on and beat him!”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything – hey – unhand me at once – I said no…”

Steering him into the lounge regardless of his protests, they presented him to the captain like bouncy retrievers dropping shot game at their master's feet. 

“Captain, everyone else has already played at least two rounds,” Hidaka announced with a hopeful smile. “Only you and Fushimi-san haven’t, so please take Fushimi-san on!”

“Of course!” the captain boomed cheerfully. “Fushimi-kun, do you know how to play Twister?”

Casting his mind back to the massive range of rowdy, not-so-rowdy and downright stark raving crazy pastimes the entire Homra team had engaged in thanks to Totsuka-san’s revolving door of interests, Fushimi was obliged to mutter with a very bad grace that, yes, he knew how the stupid game was played. 

“Excellent!” Munakata beamed, emanating clouds of happiness as Fushimi radiated doom. “Please be my opponent for this round.”

They took their places, switching mat ends for fairness, and Kamo spun.

Unlike Enomoto, Fushimi had no fear whatsoever of the captain, so he fought aggressively and strategically, targeting the captain’s half of the mat at once. However, Munakata was just as canny, and equally fast. And somehow, through a fateful series of spins that called out “left foot, green”, followed by “left hand, green”, “right foot, blue”, “right foot, blue” again, “right hand, blue”, “left foot, yellow”, “left hand, yellow”, and “right foot, red”, Fushimi unfortunately found himself trapped in a tiring press-up position directly under the captain, whose long limbs allowed him to easily hold himself up over his clansman. 

Someone took a picture, of course. The smiling Blue king and his gloomy-faced favourite, stuck in a compromising doggy-like position on a multicoloured mat – it was impossible to resist. 

The spinner then landed again on “right foot, red”, and both shot their feet out at the same red circle. 

Munakata got his foot on it first, and Fushimi swiftly tried to shift to another red circle further down, but clipped Munakata’s tabi-clad foot on the way there. This caused Munakata to lose his balance and press Fushimi down, as a consequence of which Fushimi flopped face-first onto the mat with an “oof”, Munakata landing on top of him a second later.

Someone took another picture, of course.

Without troubling himself to shift out of this even more compromising position in which he and his third in command seemed to be at it like rabbits, considering that his groin was pressed into Fushimi’s firm little butt, Munakata propped himself up on his elbows and asked Zenjou with a smile: “Zenjou-san, what’s your call?”

“Well,” rumbled Zenjou thoughtfully, looking at the mess of lean, elegant limbs splayed out on the mat before him – Munakata lying still and relaxed while Fushimi squirmed beneath him. “Captain got to the circle first, and Fushimi-san’s body hit the mat first. However, it was also Captain who was the first to lose his balance after what I believe was a very light accidental clip, and fell on top of Fushimi-san. So…”

“Is there any bloody rule that says we have to discuss the referee’s decision while lying on the bloody mat?” Fushimi yelped, red-faced, from where he was trying to free his head from the space between the mat and the captain’s chest. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Fushimi-kun,” the captain said apologetically, shifting to let Fushimi wriggle out from under him. “I thought we were supposed to stay in the last positions we had assumed in the event of an unclear outcome.”

“This isn’t wrestling!” Fushimi growled, clambering to his feet and straightening his clothes, looking daggers at Munakata. 

“Ah, my mistake,” Munakata smiled. “Zenjou-san?”

“I’ll have to declare it a tie. The captain and Fushimi-san will have to play another round.”

“An excellent judgement,” Munakata stated. “Shall we, Fushimi-kun?”

“Go play with yourself,” Fushimi muttered, stomping stiffly out of the lounge, to the despair of the rest of the team.

It was Benzai who saved the day by spotting the coffee Fushimi had wanted sitting on a shelf across the lounge, and hurrying over to the captain with it. 

“Sir, Fushimi-san seems quite upset at having been… pinned down like that. Perhaps it would be best for team harmony if you could please soothe him by being the one to return to him the coffee he was looking for?”

“Of course,” Munakata said with a bright smile as he received the jar from Benzai. “This will put Fushimi-kun in a better mood.”

The captain retrieved his sabre and coat, slipped his indoor shoes back on, and was almost out the door when he stopped and turned back to say: “Oh, Gotou-kun, did you get any good pictures of me and Fushimi-kun on your phone?”

“Uhh… y-yeah…?” Gotou stammered.

“Would you send them to me, please?” Munakata asked cheerfully.

“Y-yes, sir,” Gotou replied, not knowing what else to say in his astonishment.

The captain strode off after Fushimi, leaving the rest of the team standing there wide-eyed and open-mouthed, barely moving until Fuse hissed: “Gotou! Get rid of that damn mat! If the captain asks, say you’ve lost it. We are _never_ playing Twister here again!”

“Are you kidding?” Hidaka gasped. “That’s the mat _Fushimi-san_ was pinned down to by the _captain_! I’m keeping it! Gotou – I’ll pay you for it!”

“No, we’re burning it!” Fuse insisted.

“I’m keeping it!” Hidaka answered just as insistently. “And send me those pictures too, Gotou!”

“Men!” Awashima boomed authoritatively. “Conduct yourselves with the dignity expected of the swordsmen of Sceptre 4!” 

Everyone snapped to attention. “Yes, Ma’am!” the cry rang out through the lounge.

Later that evening, when she was off-duty, Awashima decided to visit the Homra bar for a nightcap, and Yayoi went along, making it a girls’ night out. Kusanagi, of course, was expecting them. He’d made certain that Anna would be in bed, and also ensured that the rowdier Homra guys wouldn’t be around to put the ladies off. Only Eric, Fujishima, Bandou and Shouhei were in the corner playing some game or other on their phones, so Kusanagi happily seated the women at the bar and served them their cocktails of choice, complete with their respective mounds of red bean paste and mayonnaise.

Light, friendly conversation flowed between the women and Kusanagi, and the four in the corner continued to play quietly, so the voices carried clearly through the door when two more unexpected visitors showed up.

“If you hump me in public one more time, I swear I’ll stab you in the balls – I can’t believe no one noticed your fucking hard-on once you removed your crotch from my ass!” came the first snappish voice just outside the door to the bar.

And the smoother answering voice that spoke up clearly as the door was pushed open said: “Oh, but I thought you enjoyed it, Fushimi-kun? You certainly seemed to have no complaints when I finished the job in your room.”

Munakata and Fushimi froze in the doorway when they realised how quiet the bar was tonight, and exactly _who_ had overheard them.

“Oh my god,” Fushimi muttered, looking aghast at a reddening Awashima and Yayoi on their barstools, before he whipped around and stormed off, declaring that he was _so done_ with Sceptre 4.

“Oh dear,” Munakata said in his usual unflappable manner to the room at large, though there was a tinge of concern in his voice. “I have a suspicion I’ll need more than coffee as a peace offering this time.”

He let the door swing shut after him with a closing tinkle of the bells as he followed his third in command back up the street.

Into the surprised silence that had fallen over the Homra bar, Kusanagi finally ventured to ask: “What on _earth_ was that about?”

Turning back around on her barstool, Awashima exchanged a pink-cheeked glance with Yayoi before sighing and taking out her phone to show Kusanagi a set of snaps that made the Red clan advisor’s jaw drop. Because in spite of Awashima’s sternness in the lounge, she had, of course, requested the Twister pictures from Gotou – they were too priceless not to have copies of.

Kusanagi was sure Yata Misaki would love to see them too.


End file.
